Capturing the Flames
by Daddy's Little Cannibal
Summary: Example one-shot for the “Epic T Rated One-Shot Contest.” Bella, an artist, decides to paint Edward, a fireman, for an art show. B/E Collaboration with Bronzehairedgirl620 and Daddy’s Little Cannibal.


**Bronzehairedgirl620:** Alright! Epic Contest time. We're both really excited about it; there are too many lemon contests, and a lot of you aren't into that. So this is our alternative. We hope you have a bunch of fun with it – we did. :)

**Daddy's Little Cannibal:** Like Bronze said, we're aiming for the people that don't like writing lemons or reading them. This is the cleaner side of fanfiction, because honestly, some of the best stories out there are the stories that don't have lemons but just cute moments between the characters. :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Twilight_.

**Summary:** Example one-shot for the "Epic T Rated One-Shot Contest." Bella, an artist, decides to paint Edward, a fireman, for an art show. B/E Collaboration with Bronzehairedgirl620 and Daddy's Little Cannibal.

**The Epic T Rated One-Shot Contest  
**Hosted by Daddy's Little Cannibal and Bronzehairedgirl620.

The rules are as followed:  
1. No lemons.  
2. It must be rated T.  
3. It has to have a line (not an actual character) about a cannibal.  
4. It has to have a line (not an actual character) about a fireman.  
1. No lemons.  
5. Cannon pairings.  
6. It has to be a **one-shot**, you're allowed to continue it when the contest is over with.  
7. Must copy and paste this to the beginning of every story you enter (you're allowed up to two entries, collaborations are accepted).  
1. **No lemons.  
**For more information PM either Daddy's Little Cannibal or Bronzehairedgirl620. The contest ends June 6, 2009 at 11:59 MST. All entries must follow the rules listed above.

We're excited to read your entries. :)

**Capturing the Flame**

I had been staring at him for over an hour now, following him in and out of the aisles in a pathetic attempt to look at him for a bit longer. He was with a few others, alternating between joking with them and putting things in their shopping cart, but regardless, that crooked smile returned without fail, making it hard to stand up straight.

He was perfect. The navy blue shirt hugged his muscles, the back reading 'Fire and Rescue.' His bronze hair continued to fall into his eyes, which he repeatedly pushed back; my knowledge of this was evidence that I had watched him for too long. But I couldn't stop.

I needed him.

Sucking in a deep breath I shoved my cart into an empty aisle, ready to return to it later as I marched up to him. Praying I wouldn't trip over my own feet on the way I stood awkwardly beside him, glancing at the milk just as he was, my mind hazy with the close proximity.

As soon as he started to walk away, I jumped.

"Excuse me?" I said, softly at first, but repeated it a bit louder. His head snapped around, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Yeah?" he asked, his voice sinfully husky. I bit my lip, looking at the tiled floor as I labored my breathing, hardly believing I was doing this.

"I actually had a question for you."

The surprised look left his face; I suppose that if you were a fireman, you'd have people asking you questions frequently. "Alright."

I gulped. "I'm am artist, and was wondering if you would help me out."

The puzzled look returned. "Help you?"

I sighed, wondering how I could make sense with this. "You see, I'm trying to do this painting that involves fires, but every time I try to draw in the fireman, it doesn't turn out right."

I cringed. I sounded like an illiterate five year old who was finger painting and wanted someone to help her.

He seemed amused. "Okay," he said, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I realized he was going along with my babbling. "How would I be involved?"

"Well, since you're a fireman, I was wondering if you would be willing to come over so I could paint you."

I wanted to smack myself. He would never go along with it. Meeting a strange girl in the middle of a grocery store who asks him if she can paint him – what sane person would agree?

"Okay."

My head snapped up, my gaze no longer stuck on the cracks in the floor. "What?"

"I said okay," he repeated, his bemused expression growing more pronounced. "When do you need me?"

My jaw dropped open. "Seriously?" I asked incredulously. "You're going to do it?"

He laughed out loud. "Sure," he said, his eyes shining. "Why not?"

:-:-:

I moved the easel a fraction of an inch over to the left, adjusting the brushes and swirling around the muddy water that had been sitting in the red plastic cup for over a week. My hands were shaking as I sat down on the paint-splattered stool, my leg bouncing up and down against the floor as I waited for the door to ring.

Although I tried to organize my studio as best I could, it was a hopeless effort. Newspapers were scattered across the floor, discarded canvases lined up against the wall with the lost hope that I might, one day, go back and finish them.

The blank sheet in front of me glared at me, mocking my procrastination. I sighed, tapping my foot on the floor even more, holding a breath as I heard a car pull up out front.

I stood up, attempting to smooth the permanent wrinkles in my smock before giving up. Footsteps could be heard outside the studio and I leaned up against the door, not wanting to appear too eager for this, but wanting to seem professional and punctual at the same time.

One swift knock on the door alerted me of my visitor and I stood up as straight as I could, inhaling deeply before grasping the handle and pulling. I looked down at the floor for a moment before summoning enough courage to look at him, but once I caught a glimpse I wanted to look right back down at the rug.

His body was sheathed in yellow and red, the black suspenders a stark contrast to the paleness of his skin. A helmet was tucked under one arm and a fleece jacket was slung over his shoulders, shielding him from the cold weather. He looked even better in the turn-out uniform than he did in street clothing, making my stare linger even longer.

"Oh!" I said, noticing him shudder. "Sorry. Please, come in."

He mumbled his thanks and walked into the messy apartment, quickly removing his jacket. I took it numbly, doing my best to focus on hanging it up neatly before I turned towards him, my breath hitching.

"I'm assuming I'm at the right place?" he asked, his voice velvety and low. "I don't think people normally let firemen into their apartments, but…"

I laughed, trying to pay attention to what he was saying. "Yeah," I replied, sticking my hand out in his direction. "I'm Bella. Good to see you again."

"Edward," he said simply. "You too."

I nodded mutely, reveling in the warmth his hand grasped in mine brought before pointing back towards the small room I used for my studio.

"Sorry about the mess," I said, stifling a laugh as he ran his hand through his already tousled hair, a grimace forming on his face as he realized it wouldn't stay down. "I'm not the most organized."

He laughed, the sound making me hold onto the window ledge for dear life. He could do no wrong.

"That's alright, I'm not either."

I stood staring at him for a moment, hoping my gaze came off as artistic and thoughtful instead of amazed.

"So," he started again, trying to clear the silence. "Where would you like me?"

I held up one finger, peering around the room. I had set up a stool for him earlier, but I wasn't sure if it was sufficient now. I felt bad for having him sit on my rickety chair, as if he needed something better than that.

"Right there is fine," I pointed towards the stool I began with. "Watch out – the legs are a bit unstable."

I blushed at my statement, making him laugh. "I'll be careful," he promised, perching himself on it with ease. "So what's all of this about?"

I bit my lip. "The point is to show 'The American Hero,'" I started, motioning towards the rough sketches I had done of flames and charred buildings. "I want them depicted as brave, strong and fearless. But when I tried to add in the hero, it became a little…less than courageous looking."

He didn't seem fazed by my less than conventional explanation. "Happy to do what I can," he said easily before falling quiet, his eyes roaming over my disastrous studio.

Embarrassed, I tried to move things along. I moved over towards him hesitantly, positioning his arms so he was how I pictured and held my breath, my composure slipping as I lifted one finger under his chin, moving it upwards and towards the right.

"How's this?" he asked, hardly moving a muscle. I nodded, stepping back before I attacked him.

"Perfect," I told him truthfully. "Don't move."

I gently lifted up the brush, wondering if it would be possible to concentrate fully on the canvas in front of me and not the man, but trying to clear my head, I dipped the bristles into the paint and began to paint.

I stared at him through the corner of my eye as I guided the paintbrush gently across my canvas. I bit my lip as I tried to outline his frame against the fire that I had already painted. It had been awhile since I've last painted a living model. I had forgotten how awkward and quiet it can be.

"How long have you been a fireman?" I asked, breaking the silence.

Edward made a small movement with his head, obviously surprised by my question. "A few years," he mumbled through clenched teeth.

I giggled. "You can talk," I told him. "I just need you to keep your body perfectly still."

"A few years," he repeated. This time he said it more clearly.

"Did you always want to be a fireman?" I asked. "Or was it just something that you stumbled upon." I dipped my paint brush into paint and went back to my canvas.

"I've always wanted to be a fireman. You know when you're a kid and they ask you what do you want to be when you grow up? My answer was always a fireman," Edward's shoulder slumped a fraction of an inch.

"I wanted to be a cannibal," I told him. This made his head pull back in shock and cocked an eyebrow. "I didn't know what a cannibal was," I quickly added. "I thought it was a mystical creature, like a unicorn."

He chuckled, which made his shoulders shake and his foot move to the side. It wasn't a big difference, but it was still big enough for me to catch it. I dipped my paintbrush in the paint again and started to guide it over the canvas again. I turned my head to the side and smiled to myself. It was already looking much better than my previous attempt.

"When did you want to become an artist?" he asked.

"It's something that I just stumbled upon. I actually wanted to be a cop, like my dad, but I'm incredibly clumsy, so knowing my luck and my ability not to walk in a straight line, I would get kicked out before my first day. They actually got my scheduled mixed up with another girl while I was in high school, I ended up in an art class and I fell in love with it. It didn't take the teacher long before he realized that I have potential. It actually got me a scholarship to go to college." I twisted my hand around, making my wrist pop.

"That is very cool," Edward smiled.

I nodded as I grabbed another paint brush. This one had a thicker brush. I dipped it into the paint and pressed it to the canvas with a little more force than I had with the other brush. I moved my wrist swiftly and carelessly. I was careful where it landed, but I wasn't as cautious as I had been before.

"Have you ever saved someone's life?" I asked. I felt stupid for asking such an obvious question. I'm sure he had, but I was hoping that it would lead to an interesting story.

Edward nodded, his face dropped a little. "It a few weeks after I joined the team, a heater caught on fire, which lit a curtain on fire. The fire had started on the second floor; it was too dangerous for us to go inside. We thought the family had made it out okay, until we heard that their youngest daughter, Emily, was still inside."

My breath caught in my throat and my heart pounded in my head. I stopped painting. I was staring at him as he told me his story.

"I didn't think twice about it," he continued. "It was probably the stupidest I've ever done," he let out a bitter laugh, but his face got soft. "I ran inside after her. I couldn't breathe or see anything. The flames were so close that they took off my eyebrows. I was going against everything that I had learned. If the second floor didn't cave in on me, I would probably die from the smoke."

I swallowed, loudly. My hands were shaking and my heart was pounding in my head.

"I found the girl in a corner of the house. She was crying and clutching onto a dead cat. I was just happy to see her alive." He shook his head. "She couldn't breathe and I think she was hallucinating, she kept on telling me that the angels were here. I grabbed a blanket, that wasn't on fire from the couch, and put it around her mouth before I carried her out of the house. She was crying and coughing."

I wiped away a tear on my cheek before Edward noticed it. "Did she make it?" I asked.

Edward nodded. I let out a long breath of relief. "Her lungs were scarred and she had some burns, but she survived."

"What about you? What did you leave- keep that face!" I screamed at him, remembering that I was painting a picture of him.

Edward pulled his head back, but, thankfully, his face didn't change expression. I dropped my paint brush in the water and picked up another one, this one had a thinner brush. I dipped it into the paint and started to paint that face. It was the perfect expression for what I wanted to show in my painting. It wasn't tense, it wasn't an "I know I'm a hero look," it was innocent, almost thoughtful.

I moved my face so I was inches away from my canvas. I was careful with my strokes, now. They weren't as heavy and long. The brush barely touched the canvas as I moved it centimeters for every line that I made. I was biting my lip so hard that it went numb, or maybe I just didn't notice the pain anymore. All of my attention was focused on his expression. It had to be perfect.

I smiled to myself when I was sure that I had captured it. I took a step back so I could look at the real Edward's face and the face that I had painted on the canvas. They were identical.

"I can't feel my face, anymore," Edward mumbled.

I put my hand over my mouth to hide the fact that I was giggling. "I'm sorry," I apologized. "You can move your face now." I smiled.

"Ouch," he mumbled as he massaged his jaw.

"I said your face," I snapped, jokingly. "Not your whole body."

"Sorry," he apologized. He tensed up in a different position than he had started in.

I rolled my eyes and smiled. "Thank you for doing this for me," I said. "You didn't have to." I grabbed another paint brush.

Edward shrugged. "Thank you for asking, I've never been painted before," he said.

"Neither have I," I admitted. "I'm too awkward to paint." I let out a sharp laugh at my joke.

"You're not awkward," Edward frowned. "I would paint you, but it would like a four year old drew it."

I blushed. "Thank you." I bit my lip and look at the floor.

Edward and I spent the rest of the time talking about small things. He told me what it was like to be a fireman when he wasn't saving people's lives. He also told me about his friend Emmett, who he wanted me to meet. He said that I would like him. I told him about my art shows and how much my painting usually sell for. He seemed surprised by the number, which made me blush.

"I'm finished," I said as I dropped the paintbrush into my cup of water for the last time. My arms were sore from moving them so much.

Edward's shoulders slump and he let long breath. "Finally," he said in another breath of relief. He pulled himself off of the stool, grabbing his coat, and walked towards me. I stepped aside so he could see the painting.

I was so nervous about his reaction that I didn't look at him as he stared at it. I looked at the ceiling and listened to the gasp of surprise and intake of breath.

"Wow," he said. "Wow."

I blushed. "It's not that good," I said modestly.

"It's amazing," Edward said. I looked at him. He was shaking his head as he stared at the painting, his hands cupped behind his back. He reminded me of a kid in an art museum. "It looks real."

I bit my lip and smiled. "Thank you," I said.

Flames lit up the background, the faint outline of a blackened building hidden underneath the reds and yellows. The most prominent part was the fireman, his face looking up towards the sky with a strange smile on his face as he held a limp girl in his arms.

"Who is the girl?" he asked pointing his finger at the girl in his arms. "Is that you? It is you!" He sounded excited.

My jaw dropped. "It's not me," I screamed. "Its' some other girl with brown hair and brown eyes."

"You're even wearing the same dress that you wore when you asked me to model for your painting," he let out a laugh.

"No it's not!" I screamed. "You're just seeing what you want to see." I stepped in front of the canvas and pushed on his shoulders. "You can leave now," I didn't look at him. I was still blushing.

He let out a low chuckle. "Am I invited to the showing of your painting?" he asked, not budging when I pushed on his shoulder again.

"Do you want to go?" I asked, shocked. I let go of his shoulder and stared at him.

Edward nodded. "Of course," he smiled.

"It's tomorrow, at seven."

"Where?" he asked.

"I don't know the location by name, I just know it by the landmarks," I admitted.

"Do you mind if I go with you then?" he raised an eyebrow and his eyes shifted..

"Like a date?" I asked, without thinking. My cheeks got hot and I looked at the floor. "I didn't mean date," I tried to back track. "I meant-"

"It's a date," Edward interrupted me. "If you want I can even take you out for dinner."

I bit my lip and smiled. "Dinner sounds great," I said.

"Okay then," Edward said. "I'll see you at six? So, you know, in case we get lost."

"See you at six," I nodded.

He nodded, giving me a crooked grin, before he walked out of my art studio, throwing his jacket over his shoulder. I closed the door behind him, a goofy girly grin playing across my lips. I blushed as I pressed my back against the door.

I had a date with a fire man. It was like a cheesy romance novel. All we had to do now was fall in love.

I giggled at the thought as I pushed myself away from my door and walked to my canvas. I stared at my painting, impressed with my job well done.

"That's totally me in the painting," I laughed as I picked it up, off of the aisle, and got ready to wrap it up for the art show.

**End.**

**Authors' Note:** With this written and said, send us your reviews and entries. We're excited to read them. :)


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